"For a while he sat idly outside his door brooding in the spring sun. In "The Lost Phoebe"." - Theodore Dreiser

What a wretched thing it was to be born poor and not to have any one to do anything for you and not to be able to do so very much for yourself!

I was a moral coward, and he was not losing his life and desires through fear — which the majority of us do.

How true it is that words are but the vague shadows of the volumes we mean. Little audible links, they are, chaining together great inaudible feelings and purposes.